


In the Dark

by nerigby96



Category: Martin and Lewis
Genre: 1950s, Comfort, First Time Blow Jobs, Hotels, Kissing, Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27423592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerigby96/pseuds/nerigby96
Summary: July, 1951After the Paramount
Relationships: Jerry Lewis/Dean Martin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 14





	In the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Essentially a sequel to Quiet, but can be read by itself.

The kid’s still quiet. Not silent anymore. A few chuckles here and there and he managed to say goodnight to Dick and the band, so it’s not all bad. But still. He’s too quiet. Dean lets them into the suite and flicks on the light. Immediately Jerry flicks it off. Dean laughs. Shakes his head. Goes over to the curtains and draws them. Then to his bedroom. He feels the kid on his heels. Doesn’t hear him though. Senses the tips of his fingers skittering the air at his back. Wanting to hold. Be even closer. He ignores it. Instead, he goes into the bedroom and again flicks on the light. Again, the kid flicks it off. Dean sighs now. He crosses the room in near-darkness – worse now the kid’s shut the door – and draws these curtains too. Now it’s pitch black. He picks his way over to the door where he knows Jer’s waiting and finds him easy. Holds his arms and looks at where he knows his face must be.

“All right, kid?”

He senses the nod.

“Better?”

Another nod.

“Well, okay.” He rests a hand on Jerry’s head. Pushes down and back, then up again, flattening his hair one way and mussing it the other. He does it again. More than stroking. Pressure. Reassurance. And the toes of Jerry’s tap shoes touch Dean’s and his arms wrap loosely round his waist. Dean holds him. Firm.

“We did good, right?” His voice shudders in Dean’s throat.

Dean squeezes him. Put his lips to Jer’s ear. “We did _great_. Best shows yet.”

Jerry nods against his neck. His fingers grip weakly Dean’s jacket. Dean strokes his back awhile. Hums tunelessly. Then kisses his cheek. Then the other. Then his mouth. Just once. And when he’s done he tries to speak but they’re so close that the movement makes their lips brush again and Jerry kisses him. Dean forgets to breathe. Has to jerk back and gasp for air and then Jer’s hands are on his face, pulling him close. Dean holds his waist, and they’re breathing hard, and Jer’s tongue pushes inside, hungry and desperate. Dean has time enough to say his friend’s name. To hear his friend’s whimper. And then his tongue is in his mouth again and Jerry’s fingers find the button on his pants.

“Jer, what—”

But he knows what. Knows why those elegant fingers are slipping the button from its hole, the tongue of fabric from its loop, the hook from its eye. Then the zip rasps down and Jer breaks the kiss long enough for Dean to stumble back a step. His legs hit the bed and he’s falling. Crying out softly. Jer coming with him, braced on his thigh. And Dean saying his partner’s name again, and moving back to give him room, and then there are fingers in his underwear and cool air on hot skin and there’s a smell too, of heat and something else, and fingers touching lightly. Almost carefully. Dean gasps. Snags his top lip to kill that noise and fists the sheets. Jerry’s other hand comes then. Cups. Squeezes gently. And his fingers holding and then the delicate tip of his tongue. Dean moans. Throws back his head. Feels his boy’s full lips like a kiss. Hears Jer’s soft moan as he bends closer. Takes him farther. Further. No cool air now. Now it’s deeper and warmer. Wetter. Hands moving too. Expert and practised. But not here. Not with him. Still somehow he knows him. The way he knows every other part of him, Dean figures. Instinctual and perfect. Terrifying. He wants to say. Wants to tell him how scary this is. Instead slips one hand between the pillows for something to hold and puts the other on his boy’s head. Strokes and pets and tries to say nice things or at least say his name so he knows it’s okay but every time his mouth wants to moan. Has to. Whatever control he had over his throat is gone now. Taken, maybe, by his boy, whose throat has never been more controlled. Not betraying him the way Dean’s is now. Working perfectly. Relaxed and easy where Dean’s is spasming. He’s frantic. Too many things to think of. Only one thing he should be thinking of now. This one thing Jer has no doubt singled out. Focused on. Dean’s mind cycles rapidly through tens of thousands. Dean’s hips, too, are not listening. Pushing. Moving. He wants to stop. Wants to want that. Feels whatever’s building getting warmer, deeper. Knows he could speak or tap or push and Jer would stop. Wouldn’t take what Dean has to give. What Dean needs so desperately to give _Jesus_ he’s never needed to give it so much. Not to anyone. Figures it would be to Jer, he thinks. And maybe Jerry knows. _Ha._ No. No maybe about it. Jerry always knows. He braces himself on Dean’s thigh. Fingers tight. Gripping so hard Dean thinks he might bruise. And Dean huffs and groans and wants to say his name but what comes is a grunting cry. Guttural. Almost animal. Then lights flash and heat like wildfire sears him, covers him in a white-hot sheet. It takes an age. An instant. It’s so intense he imagines his body jack-knifes. Almost collapses on itself after. He thinks his fingers locked in Jerry’s hair and hopes he hasn’t hurt him.

In the dark. Jerry sits between Dean’s legs. They’re both quiet. Or wordless. Panting. Dean disoriented. There’s more light now. Enough has worked its way through the curtains to pick out the shadow of his partner. Dean thinks he sees him wipe his mouth. Closes his eyes. Shakes his head and lets it drop on to the bed. _Jesus_ , he thinks. _God._ Then tries to sit and moves back. Wants the pillows now. Needs something to support him. His shaking arm won’t do the job. Jerry comes too. Crawls up the bed to his side and tucks himself there. He’s trembling. His hand rests on Dean’s chest. Dean opens his mouth. Closes it. He doesn’t have the words for this. He slips his arm under Jerry’s head and waits for him.

His fingers fiddle with Dean’s shirt buttons. “Sorry,” he mutters.

Dean flinches. Forces it to stay in his face. Keeps his body still save the trembling. Already that’s passing. The heavy breathing is harder to control. “Why?” he asks. Tries to laugh. Make it light. “What’d you do?”

“Mm.” He pushes his face into Dean’s neck. “Well, I… There was… I spit some of it.” The kid’s face burns.

“Oh.” Dean coughs. Fidgets. Figures he could have gone his whole life not hearing that. Can’t see why they even have to talk after. He’s still out. Soft now. Cooling down and sticky from Jer’s mouth. _Christ._ “Well. Jer, that’s okay.”

“Got it on your sheets, I’m sorry.”

“ _Ehi_ , _ehi_.” He puts his lips to Jer’s damp brow. “We got other sheets. Hell, we got a whole other _bed_ in your room. What is this, _sorry_?” It’s easy, this part. Even without what just happened, Dean knew they’d be in bed together. So Dean could do what he’s meant to. Not whatever this was. Hold him and help and make sure he’s all right. With Jerry the way he was today… It’s happened before, but every time’s like the first. That dread settling in his stomach. His vibrant boy turned blurry. Almost see-through. Like a dirty pane of glass. And Dean always here to clear away the _schmutz_ and bring him back into the world. Maybe this time the kid wanted to try to bring himself back a little. Dean tuts affectionately. “Nothin’ to be sorry for.”

Jerry nods. Nuzzles him. And then, after a moment, pushes himself against Dean’s hip.

“Paul,” he whispers. “Will you?” Even reaches for Dean’s hand. Would guide him there, if Dean wanted that. Show him how. _Stop him, Dino._

“Kid, I don’t—”

“That’s okay.” Quick. Hurrying past it. He nuzzles again. Lightens his voice. “Bubbe, I really need to. You tasted so good.”

Dean’s stomach knots. If his cock weren’t hanging out he’d run. Might run anyway. Then Jerry’s voice, small again and almost plaintive, hushed and warm and tremulous against his neck: “Don’t send me away.”

Dean crumbles. Wraps him up tight and says, “Won’t.”

Jerry reaches down between them to touch himself. “Tell me nice things,” he says, and his arm starts to move.

For a second, Dean thinks his words have gone. All the nice things lost along with any rational thought he might have had ten minutes ago. But then he’s talking. And whatever he says must be working. Jerry keens against his neck and says his name and Dean says _Yes_ and _There’s my boy_ and strokes his hair and whispers in his ear until it’s over. He moves back. Keeps hold. Tries to see him in the dark. He can, a little. His eyes sparkle. Dean can’t remember when he started crying. Wonders – awful – that he really did hurt his poor hair and strokes the top of his head to say sorry. Jerry sniffs and smiles. And the sparkle changes. Not tears now but delight. How it was earlier tonight. Before he had to be quiet. Onstage, when he pushed and pushed and Dean – the imperious elder, the strict brother, the indulgent father – let him do what he wanted. He does this now. Stays still and presses his lips tight and feels two sweet pecks there. And Jerry grins like he did before and covers his mouth.

They lie there for a while. The tips of their fingers touch and press and retreat. Then slip through and hold. Jerry whispers that he loves Dean, loves him so much, and Dean kisses the bridge of his nose. Then he rolls on to his back. He tucks himself into his shorts and hesitates. Knows he has to do it. To finish it. Draw a line under it. And through the silence rasps that most dreadful sound; the sound of an ending: his zipper, up. Then silently the eye is hooked, the loop receives its tongue, and the button slips back through its hole. He pushes himself down to the end of the bed and crosses to the door. His hand hovers over the light switch but he thinks better of it. Turns back to the bed and calls softly to his partner. Holds out his hand.

Jerry doesn’t come.

For once, he doesn’t come. Dean takes a breath and goes to him. He’s hunched. Hugging his knees. Disappearing again. _Wasn’t enough_ , he thinks. _Coulda told him that._ He sits beside him. Gently helps unfurl his legs. He’ll never learn this way. Everything is so clear to Dean and part of him thinks it’s clear to Jer, too. He thinks he knows already but can’t stop. Can’t make himself stop. And Dean the grownup here, meant to help him stop. Now look at this mess. Just look at it.

He touches Jerry’s cheek. Needs to pull him out of there. Wherever it is he goes when he’s quiet. Not a nice place. Dean wonders if he goes there in his dreams, too, and already knows he won’t ask. Hates that he won’t ask.

He rubs his knuckles against Jer’s cheek. Stubble whispers there and Jer blinks. The sound helps, maybe. The sensation too. Dean does it again then moves his hand. Squeezes the back of his neck so Jerry will look him in the eye. And it is Jerry, there. _Here._ With him now. Not somewhere else. And Dean’s so happy and relieved to see him at last that everything else falls away. And he knows in the morning he’ll not face up to this. He’ll wake early, leave the kid alone and take a car to Dyker Beach. Spend the morning and part of the afternoon on the green. Then come back and act like nothing happened. He loves his partner but he won’t talk to him. It was someone else, anyway. Someone else in this room who crouched between his thighs tonight. It was dark and Jer was far away.

Dean shoves all this aside and smiles at Jerry; it’s so good to see him. “Thanks for comin’ back to me," he says.

**Author's Note:**

> *Bill Wurtz voice* I hate myself, ohh I hate myself.  
> And yes, I stole the ending from Brief Encounter, what about it? (Omg, M&L Brief Encounter au, I'm manifesting)


End file.
